Flight From Death
by x-Faux-x
Summary: After OoTP. Voldemort is active in the wizarding world again, and manages to invade Harry's sleep with nightmares of death. Desperate to escape, Harry flees, only to be captured by the Dark Lord himself. 8-15-04!
1. Chapter I: Prologue

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.

Author's Note: I've been aching to write something for Harry's Sixth Year for ages now, and finally I've got the time to do it! This chapter is the prologue, just some background explanation for what will happen in the real First Chapter, which I'll try to post sometime tonight or early tomorrow. Anyway, I've got the story mapped out to keep me from rambling on in different directions, but I'm sure your ideas are mucho better then mine, so Review if you want to suggest something or whatnot. Or just flame the story like a box of matches, whatever floats your goat :D.

**Harry Potter and the Flight From Death**

Prologue

A full moon winked down at a small and unobtrusive cottage in the equally small and unobtrusive village of Godric's Hollow. The area was quaint, equally inhabited by both Wizards and Muggles, (although, the muggles might have been rather surprised to learn that anyone of a magical persuasion was resident in such a seemingly unimportant part of the country) both of whom seemed more then willing to except the oftentimes unnatural lifestyles of their neighbors.

Tonight was a marked night indeed on the calendars of the villagers, for tonight was Halloween. The Wizards in residence were particularly fond of this night, and often chose to celebrate it with a display of shooting stars, or else charming normal objects - trees, for example - to glow cheerfully whenever a person walked by. Such abnormalities were welcomed by the muggles, however, who were far too used to such unexplainable happenings to spend any amount of time questioning it.

Perhaps it was this that kept both Wizards and Muggles from questioning when one of the cottages in the village had simply disappeared several months ago. There was no lingering smell of smoke to suggest a fire, nor had any construction vehicles been sighted. The cottage had simply ceased to exist, leaving no evidence that any person had ever lived there at all.

Yet someone did live in Number Nine Godric's Hollow. Three persons total inhabited the cozy, two landing home. The Potters had moved in almost immediately after the old owners had moved out, taking full advantage of the abandoned house to begin a life of secrecy - for with all the measure and precautions that had been taken, they had full confidence that nothing and no one would ever find them here.

It was a remotely lonely life, the Potter's. There were never any visitors, for the simple reason that no one - save one person - knew of their whereabouts, and they were unwilling to let word of it reach even some of their closest companions.

"Someone amongst you cannot be trusted," Albus Dumbledore had said wearily, "One of your friends has betrayed the Order, has betrayed all of us -"

"I have known them for nearly nine years Albus! They're my family for Merlin's sake! They wouldn't _betray_ any of us! Not one!" James Potter had risen to his feet, hotly denying the words he had been afraid to hear since he had first suspected.

"You cannot risk this, James. You, Lily, and Harry must go into hiding. He is looking for you even as we speak, and he will not rest until you are found," the Headmaster had completely disregarded James' red-faced agitation, and continued tiredly, "You know of the Fidelius Charm, I am certain?"

"Of course," James answered coolly, "Lily only spent the entire ruddy week researching it after you put _that_ idea into her head -"

James sounded as though he could have vented a bit of frustration over this subject as well, however Dumbledore quickly continued.

"And I am certain she is more then capable of performing it. You will need to find a possible place of residence immediately and procure a Secret Keeper," And Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles to leer down at James with a sternness that was nevertheless shadowed with regret, "As well as you know your friends, Voldemort is able to manipulate even the best of us with fear." He said softly.

"Sirius. Sirius will be our Secret Keeper." James had growled, daring the older man to suggest that his closest friend was capable of….

"James, you must think of your wife and son! There is a traitor amongst you, and Voldemort will go to any lengths to turn those you care about against you. I would be more then willing to be the Secret Keeper for your family -"

"Sirius Black would never betray me. He would never serve Voldemort. Sirius will do it. I'll ask him tonight."

And so he had.

James Potter gazed out the window of the wooden cottage, listening to the faint giggling coming from a room upstairs, which announced that his son was awake. Yet for once, he did not romp up to the landing and engage Harry in a silly activity, or talk to him about the old days while the toddler grinned up at him as though he understood.

No, James simply stared up at the full moon, hazel eyes darkened with thought. Remus Lupin would be alone tonight. Alone to suffer through the bone-wracking transformations he underwent every month. When they had been younger, James had secretly wondered over Remus' acceptance of his curse, the werewolf never complained. Never once had James heard the words, "Why Me?" escape Remus' mouth. If it had been him, James had once mused, he probably would have cracked under the pressure. But Remus never had.

For this reason, he often questioned Sirius' certainty that it was Remus who had turned to Voldemort, who was leaking information from the Order to the dark side. The calm and reasonable book worm Marauder turn against his friends? Moony, who always managed to temper James' and Sirius' hot headed personalities, who had talked their way out of more then one detention? It was for Remus that the Marauders had risked everything, and Remus had always been enormously grateful.

Yet Sirius had been certain, just as he had been certain that it was Peter who should be the Secret Keeper. Peter, as Sirius had said, was far too weak to be of interest to Voldemort. No one would suspect that little Peter had been chosen. Voldemort would send for Sirius, would use the Imperious to force Sirius to lead him to the Potters. Yet Sirius would not be able to, Voldemort would be unable to force Sirius into leading him to his best friend. Sirius would not know where James was. And Remus would never know about the change. No one would know.

It was perfect.

And James knew that he should be angry, knew that he should feel fury at Remus for joining the Dark Lord. But James could not. All that he felt whenever Remus was mentioned, was a horrible, gut-wrenching pang of regret. Regret for not being there for his friend, for making Remus feel desperate enough to turn over. Regret for every sarcastic remark he had ever made against his friend. And regret for not being there for him tonight.

A hand on James' shoulder interrupted his brooding. Instinctively he wheeled around, hazel eyes sharp and ready to face - Lily. He sighed in a mixture of relief and exasperation at his own anxiety.

"Remus will be fine on his own, James." She said softly.

"I - I wasn't thinking about Remus. I don't care about -" James was a terrible liar. His throat tightened and he found that he could not say it. He could not say that he didn't care about Moony.

But Lily simply smiled sadly, gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and left him to his thoughts.

Outside, a tall, hooded figure watched with smug satisfaction. Tonight, he would ensure that nothing, no one, would ever bring his death.

Right. A bit short, sorry 'bout that, didn't want to make it too long as it's only just a reminder of the background. The next chapter will explain the need for this, I promise! There is method to my madness! Yee Haw.

I'll go finish the first chapter and post it up shortly, let me know what you thought of the Prologue anyway! Mucho Thanks. :D


	2. Chapter II: Nightmares

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.  
  
Author Note: Right, finally figured out how to italicize, etc. so the Prologue was repaired. Now onto the next chapter!  
  
**The Flight From Death**  
  
Chapter I: Nightmares  
  
_He crept forward with the crafty silence of a snake, glittering green eyes set upon the cottage he could now view for the first time.  
  
Pettigrew had been true to his word.  
  
He did not bother to slink through a back door, or climb through a window - this would be far too undignified. And he certainly had no reason to attack from behind, no, he would face them head on. He would find this_ threat _to his existence, and he would prove to the Wizarding World that no one could end his reign.   
  
Particularly not a mangy, weak toddler with a mudblood of a mother.  
  
A cruel smile twisted his gaunt face, long fingers slipping around the long, yew wand in his pocket. He removed the wand from his robes, pointed it toward the wooden door of the cottage, and thrust it forward into the night air.  
  
The door was blown from its hinges.  
  
There was a strangled yell from the next room, a soft scream from the upstairs landing, and footsteps.  
  
He saw him as he rounded the corner, and his instincts buzzed with the need for revenge. This fool, this raven-haired, hazel-eyed fool youth who had managed to weasel his way out of death three times._ Born to those who have thrice defied him... _The words of the prophecy caused green eyes to narrow with contempt.  
_  
_The man seemed to have regained his senses, he yelled a warning to someone upstairs, and drew his wand.  
  
"You'll never get Harry. You'll lose. I'll never let you kill my family."  
  
"Your_ family_?" The words escaped him with a horrible sarcasm, and the other man's eyes narrowed fiercely.  
_  
_"The family who so willingly revealed to me where to find you?" He chuckled as James Potter's eyes suddenly began to widen, and a strange emotion - fear, perhaps? - appeared behind them.  
  
"N-No…They would never…Peter would never…"  
  
"He betrayed you willingly, the mindless coward. I had only to ask and your dear friend stuttered exactly what I wanted to hear." He was enjoying the other man's horror, and for this reason he was almost caught off guard as the other screamed -  
  
"AVADA KEDAV-"  
  
A flick of his wand and the curse was deflected before the other could manage to finish it.   
  
"You…you…Peter wouldn't…what did you…" The raven-haired man was shaking, and he was enjoying this far too much to make it quick. Yet when the other did manage to speak, he was trembling with rage and hissed the words as he backed up to block the door frame, standing between the route to his family and the man who wished to kill them.  
  
"You worthless killer…I'll never let you touch my family…"  
  
And the duel began.  
  
"IMPERIO!"  
  
"PROTEGO! STUPEFY-"  
  
The stunning spell was cast aside, and met with the Cruciatus Curse. The man might have dodged it if he had only stepped aside, but he would not cease from blocking the path. Within moments he had crumbled screaming, using his hands to hold him up against the wall, refusing to fall. And the curse was held to him for no less then a full minute of agony, until the hand which held the wand in place rose.  
  
The raven-haired man shook uncontrollably, struggling to remain standing. His glasses had fallen and lay forgotten on the floor as he gasped for breath, and turned to face the man responsible.  
  
"You can't…won't let…Harry…"  
  
"Move."  
  
"Can't…Lily…no…Harry…"  
  
"AVADA KEDAVRA_!"  
  
"NOOOOOOOO!" Harry Potter lunged upward in bed, falling to the floor as his scar seared with incomparable pain.  
  
He had killed him. He had killed his father.   
  
"WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU MEAN BY THIS BOY?" His uncle had broken into his room with an audible SLAM! The door was torn clean from it's hinges.   
  
Just as he, Harry, had done to Godric's Hollow. Had done to his house.  
  
He killed him.  
  
Tearing the blankets from him, he attempted to stand but fell to the floor. He was drenched in cold sweat, icy tears had leaked from eyes still wide with horror. He attempted to answer his uncle but could not speak, feeling as though he would be sick in moments.  
  
The thought was forcibly strengthened as his uncle's foot collided with his gut.  
  
"MAKING A RACKET IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! WAKING UP MY FAMILY! I WON'T HAVE IT! YOU CAN TELL YOUR RUDDY ABNORMAL _FRIENDS_ TO COME AND FETCH YOU, YOU'RE NOT WELCOME IN MY HOUSE!" Uncle Vernon roared, quite oblivious to the racket he himself was making. Within moments Dudley and Aunt Petunia were standing outside the door frame in shock.  
  
And his Uncle's foot collided with his side.  
  
"OUT! GET OUT!"  
  
But Harry could not move. He dimly registered his Uncle's furious kicks, but they were of little importance to him. He had killed his father. He had killed James Potter. He had seen it. He had done it.  
  
He had killed him.  
  
"Vernon-" His Aunt Petunia began, as though to placate the man, but was interrupted by another roar, and cowered back against the wall, pulling Dudley to her.  
  
"NO MORE OF THIS! THREATENED BY YOUR BLOODY FRIENDS! I WON'T HAVE IT!"  
  
Another kick, and Harry was yanked to his feet by the collar of his pajamas.  
  
A blow to the head returned him to his senses.  
  
He staggered out of the room and began to descend the stairs when a rough kick caught him in the small of the back, and he fell the rest of the way. There was a crack as he landed directly on his right wrist. He attempted to muffle a shout of pain, forcing himself upward, opening the door with clammy hands, and staggering drunkenly out into the night before his Uncle could make his way down the stairs in time to kick him again.  
  
He could not think. He could not breathe.  
  
And so he walked, trembling violently, more out of horror of the nightmare he had just witnessed then the pain his uncle had instilled upon him.  
  
He, Harry, had seen it. How many times had he heard the voices of his mother and father in his head, had heard his - no, Voldemort's cruel laughter? But this was unbearable. He had seen his home, had seen his father alive, had tortured him, had _killed_ him.  
  
And suddenly he could walk no further, his legs gave way beneath him and he fell to the grass outside the children's park he had taken refuge in last year. The swing he had sat upon had been wrecked by Dudley and his gang in the year since he had last visited.  
  
He stared up at the black night sky, up at the full moon so like the one that had lit the path he had taken to his home. To kill them.  
  
He had killed him.  
  
But he would not cry. He _could_ not. The tears would not come, he could only stare upward lifelessly, his head still ringing with pain from the blow Vernon had dealt him, and the burning that still lingered from his scar. His wrist was bent unnaturally, and seemed to radiate pain.   
  
And the rain began to fall. Perhaps it was this that cleared his head, brought him to his senses, away from the sleepy stupor that had caused him to flee his Aunt and Uncle's house. Forcing aside the still present horror of his dream, he suddenly realized what trouble he found himself in.  
  
He was alone in Magnolia Crescent with no wand, a broken wrist, no glasses, and a searing headache. He realized vaguely that this was probably as enormously stupid a move as dancing in front of Voldemort with a sign reading 'LIVE BAIT!'  
  
Limbs still shaking violently, he managed to stumble to his feet, wiping away the cold sweat gathered on his forehead with his sleeve.   
  
The best thing to do would probably be to head to Mrs. Figg's home, explain what had happened - minus the nightmare and embarrassing screaming - and ask for a place to spend the night. With a surge of inner annoyance, he noted that it would have been a much smarter idea to head to Mrs. Figg's home as soon as he had left the Dursley's, for now he would have to retrace his steps without being able to see anything.  
  
Blindly, he began to trudge forward when a soft noise caught his attention.  
  
It was a soft, squeaking sound, and he wheeled around to face the swing, assuming a breeze had caused it to move.  
  
But the swing was still.  
  
The hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end, he was certain he was being watched. Standing very still he listened carefully, and heard the squeaking sound again off to his right. Jerking his head sideways he squinted into the night, as though expecting to see a death eater leering back at him.  
  
He saw nothing but an old sewer, probably infested by rats.  
  
_Oh no…_  
  
His heart pounding, he tilted his head slowly downward toward the pavement, and a pair of small, beady eyes gleamed back at him through the night.   
  
He did not wait to make certain, there was no doubt in his mind - he bolted in the other direction, back through the park, yet was halted by a new installment to the park. Apparently whoever was in charge of the area's management seemed to feel as though the only way to keep Dudley and his gang out of the area was to install a tall, metal linked fence with a locked gate outside the perimeter. He managed to register that this was probably a clever idea, for Dudley's immense bulk would never have been able to climb the five-foot fence.   
  
Panicking, he scrabbled upward, however was reminded of his broken wrist as the offending appendage seared with pain. _No… _He had to make it to the top. He was nearly there!  
  
Footsteps sounded behind him.  
  
He struggled up, his head pounding. The world began to tilt.  
  
He reached the top, straining to force his way over, managed to force one leg over the top when a pair of grubby hands grasped the other and pulled.  
  
And with an echoing shout, he felt himself falling to the grass below, and knew no more.

A/N: Well…that's chapter one! What do you think? If it's worth continuing, let me know! If it's absolutely abysmal and deserves a good kick in the mule, flame away! Either way, thanks for reading! I'll reply to reviews in the next chapter :D 


	3. Chapter III: Captivity

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.  
  
Author's Notes: Righto. One review! :D I nearly did a snoopy dance around the room when I saw that. However, doing a snoopy dance after getting pummeled by a very disturbed horse is not generally a healthy idea, so I refrained. So Darkaus gets hero-of-the-day award.  
  
**The Flight From Death**  
  
Chapter II: Captivity  
  
_"Should...kill...avoid...."  
  
"More...alive...fool...Crucio!"_  
  
Harry's eyes snapped open, his pulse pounding in his ears. The jumble of conversation he could make out sent him into temporary shock.  
  
What had happened? Emerald eyes closed for a moment, shutting out the distant murmurings as he strained to recall the events that had occurred. A nightmare...his Uncle ordering him out of the house...IWormtail./I He jumped mentally, eyes forced open once again, taking in the blurry surroundings. If only he had remembered to bring glasses! Squinting furiously, he was nonplussed to find that there was no one nearby, no one standing guard over Harry Potter.  
  
Something wasn't right.  
  
Perhaps he hadn't been captured! Like a balloon the hopeful thought inflated rapidly to the point where he half expected Albus Dumbledore to stroll on over, and he craned his neck around to search for the cheerful Headmaster.  
  
And then he saw them.  
  
They surrounded him, like a flock of towering shadows, distanced enough to prevent the nightmares from plaguing him, yet close enough to instill a horrifying fear in his heart.  
  
Dementors.  
  
The hair rose up along his arms and neck, frozen to the spot. Tentatively, he moved his left arm to prop himself up.   
  
The dementors didn't move.  
  
Feeling slightly heartened, he moved to prop himself up with his right arm as well, when a sharp, unexpected pain made him draw in his breath. His wrist was broken - he had forgotten. Seeing that he was awake, the dementors stirred restlessly.  
  
The low murmuring he had noted vaguely, located some distance behind him, ceased. He heard soft, muffled footsteps, and was caught between the impulses to feign unconsciousness and wheel to face the one approaching, causing him to remain rooted to the spot, feeling the eyes boring into the back of his neck, resisting the urge to shudder.  
  
"Stand aside." A cruel hiss of a voice sounded, making him start. The dementors in his range of vision glided backwards. This retreat caught his curiosity, until a bone chilling cold swept by him. Five dementors made their way past him from behind, and this time he was unable to repress the shudder. Sensing his weakness, a single dementor hesitated, drawing a long, shuddering breath.  
  
_"You worthless killer...I'll never let you touch my family..."  
  
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_  
  
"MOVE!" The hiss had risen to a threatening volume, and Harry flinched involuntarily. The dementor glided mournfully away, the warm summer air enveloping Harry once again.  
  
"Harry Potter..." It hissed, and gathering his courage, Harry forced himself around with his left arm, and stared back into the red eyes of the man - no, the beast - who would kill him.  
  
"Voldemort." He was pleased to discover that his voice sounded far braver then he felt, and remarkably calm.  
  
"Tell me...what was the Boy Who Lived doing all by his lonesome without a wand?" The voice. It was the same voice that had escaped his mouth in the nightmare, the same voice that had haunted him since he was thirteen years old, "And with a broken wand arm? Tut, tut. That senile Headmaster of yours isn't taking proper care of Famous Harry Potter?"  
  
"Dumbledore is not senile. He is brilliant." Harry growled. His own courage - or stupidity, in this case - amazed him. He was hardly pleased with Dumbledore at the moment; if he had never sent him to live with the Dursleys, surely he wouldn't be here right now. If he had only -  
  
"Crucio."  
  
Unbearable pain flooded every part of Harry's being, intensified by the broken wrist and swelling bruises from his Uncle's violence. He screamed, writhing as unending agony invaded his mind so that he could not think - pain was all that he knew.  
  
It seemed like hours before Voldemort raised his wand and Harry fell limp to the ground, gasping for breath as Voldemort simply chuckled.  
  
"Not senile? Tell me, Harry Potter, are you proud of the blundering fool who sent you to live with those who would sooner break your bones then offer you a greeting?"  
  
Harry hesitated, for suddenly there was a voice in his very mind that seemed to agree with Voldemort, agree that Dumbledore was a fool for sending him to the Dursley's. _No. This wasn't Dumbledore's fault_. Harry told the voice firmly, and Voldemort seemed to have heard it also.  
  
"No? Not his fault, wasn't it? Dumbledore is a fool who believes in second chances. He would send you back to the Dursleys before he took into consideration your safety."  
  
"And you're really one to voice an opinion on my safety." Harry remarked dryly. He was going to die, he was certain. He might as well make it interesting.  
  
To his enormous surprise, Voldemort chuckled.  
  
"I'm not going to kill you, Potter," Voldemort hissed, and then, as though reconsidering the thought, added, "Yet."  
  
Harry said nothing, simply glared back into the red eyes.  
  
"I want you to tell me what was in the prophecy." He hissed calmly.  
  
"No." Harry said simply.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
The pain had returned, and Harry screamed his throat raw, writhing in agony, occasionally agitating his broken wrist, and more pain rose to the surface...  
  
And then it was over. Harry lay panting, tears running down a pale and clammy face. He could not continue this, this was _torture_.  
  
"What was in the prophecy, Potter?"  
  
"I - I c-can't..."  
  
"Crucio."  
  
Harry began to lose track of how many times Voldemort had asked the question, knowing only that each time he replied in the negative, there was pain. Endless agony. He could not move, he lay sprawled across the ground, sobbing.  
  
"WHAT IS IN THE PROPHECY, POTTER?"  
  
He had to say something, the pain would not end! What harm could it do to tell Voldemort?   
  
"It...it said..." He choked, and for a moment Voldemort looked almost eager. Yet the words that escaped him were nothing he had planned.  
  
"That you're a slimy, half-blooded - "  
  
It was, perhaps, lucky that Voldemort performed the Cruciatus Curse before Harry had finished the insult entirely, or he may have lost his patience and killed him then and there. The defiance, however, earned such a long spell of the pain that Harry could feel his mind slipping, could feel his consciousness draining away.  
  
"You will tell me what is in the Prophecy." Voldemort drew back his wand.  
  
"W-w-why? Y-you'd just k-kill me as soon as I t-told..." He gasped, yet soon grew quiet, for the lingering pain was taking his breath away.  
  
"Imperio!"  
  
And Harry slipped into blissful peace.  
  
_Tell him what's in the Prophecy...  
  
What's the point?  
  
What could it hurt? Just tell him.  
  
"The...The one with the power..."  
  
That's it, tell him.  
  
I can't.  
  
DO IT!  
_  
"I CAN'T!"  
  
And the remaining will in him slipped away, leaving him to fall into unconsciousness.  
  
When Harry next came to, he immediately wished he could simply fall back to sleep. His entire being seemed to radiate pain, and he dared not move. A low grumbling in his stomach alerted him that he was hungry, however he could not have eaten had food have been provided anyway - there was no trusting Voldemort.  
  
Emerald orbs blinked open wearily, squinting into the surroundings in a futile attempt to gather his location. The first difference he noted was the absence of the biting cold from before. A small bubble of hope worked its way through him. Had the dementors finally left?

Slowly, Harry extended his left arm, instinctively searching for his glasses. He was thoroughly surprised as his fingertips met with the cool metal frames. Nearly poking himself in the eye with the hurry to put them on, the world suddenly came into focus around him.

And his stomach dropped.

While he had not seen the inside of this room for two full years – and even then, it had only been in a dream – he would have recognized it anywhere. It was the room in which an old man had met his death, the room in which Wormtail had, with the assistance of Nagini, nursed his master back to health. Craning his head slightly to the right, Harry could even see the worn, leather armchair Voldemort had been seated in throughout the nightmare.

The location did nothing to improve his thoroughly pessimistic mood.

And then, as though fate had heard his muted sigh of frustration, a cold, icy voice broke out from somewhere to his left.

"Your unending stupidity will never fail to amaze me, Potter."

Feeling as though the day could not possibly have gotten any worse, Harry turned his head slowly to glare back into the unforgiving eyes of Hogwarts' least popular Potions Master.

Really sorry for the delay, the horse I take care of wasn't feeling very good. Anyway, I'm back now, and Chapter Three will be up as soon as I can edit and post it to make up for the long absence! Thanks a million to everyone who reviewed!


	4. Chapter IV: Downhill

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.  
  
Author's Notes: Wahoo! Reviews! :D Many, many thanks. This chapter is slightly darker then the previous two, and may worsen as Harry's situation worsens. In any case, let me know what you think!  
  
The Flight From Death

**Chapter IV: Downhill**  
  
Vernon Dursley inhaled luxuriously, the mingling smells of toast, bacon, and flapjacks reaching his pudgy nostrils. He was, in his opinion, on a roll. Feeling thoroughly emboldened after his expulsion of his 'ruddy abnormal nephew', he quite felt as though nothing in the world could go wrong.

Strutting down the stairs with the air of a battle hero returning from a most victorious mission, he was slightly surprised to find that his wife was not prompt in expressing her undying pride and gratitude to him after disposing of their 'problem'.

No, Petunia Dursley looked downright anxious – the crackling of bacon on the stove made her jump, and as Vernon's heavy footfalls sounded in on the linoleum kitchen floor, she positively shrieked, flinging her arms up to cover her face instinctively, succeeding only in knocking the toaster off the counter, and sending two slices of toast skidding across the floor at her husband's feet.

"P-Petunia?"

At the sound of Vernon's voice, suspicious eyes peered from between her arms. Immediately her demeanor changed, offering a terse, "Good morning," before bending down to scoop the toast off of the floor and deposit it in the dust bin (Although, this was hardly necessary, as Petunia made certain that her floor was perfectly pristine, and clean enough to eat off of).

Deciding not to question his wife's peculiar behavior, Vernon seemed to deem it best that he pour his own coffee – the way his wife's hands were shaking, she may very well spill the entire cream container! Shuffling toward the coffee pot, he made to gather the sugar bowl and scoop, when a sharp rapping sounded incessantly at the door.

Mumbling in a thoroughly disgruntled fashion about the appalling lack of manners the neighbors seemed guilty of, he set down the coffee and condiments and stomped noisily toward the door, pulling it open roughly.

"WHERE IS HE, VERNON?"

Dursley nearly fell over backwards in surprise; standing in the door way, brandishing her purse threateningly, was old Mrs. Figg.

"Er...Pardon?" It was, perhaps, the first time he made use of manners.

"Where is Harry, you bumbling oaf! What have you done with the boy?!"

By now, Petunia had heard the angry shouts from the kitchen, and abandoned the bacon to sidle into the picture, watching Arabella Figg warily, as though hardly daring to suspect. Yet, it was Vernon who answered.

"Got rid of that nasty excuse for a boy, I did! Cast him out! If the world is lucky, he'll be hit by an autobus, and serve him –!" But Vernon was unable to finish, for Arabella began to turn a deep shade of red, and in a furious temper, swung back her purse and slammed it at Vernon's pudgy face.

"YOU GREAT FOOL! THAT BOY IS THE ONLY CHANCE TO OUR WORLD! HE MIGHT VERY WELL HAVE BEEN CAPTURED ALREADY! WHAT KIND OF A THICK-HEADED WHALE ARE YOU, EH DURSLEY?" And, with another SMACK! for good measure, she turned on heel and galloped back toward her home with more speed then could be imaginable for one her age.

And the Dursleys stood in shocked silence as the neighbors glared hungrily out their windows, seeming to take selfish satisfaction in finding their normal neighbors ridiculed by an old, batty, and cat-loving woman.

* * *

"So again, Potter, I am forced to rescue your ungrateful, arrogant hide from the grasp of the Dark Lord."

Harry was in a state of complete abandonment in hope. Clearly whoever governed his life had a sense of humor, for the very last person Harry wished to be saving him, was Severus Snape. Thankfully, the door to the room was slammed haphazardly open, allowing a very smug looking Wormtail to enter.

"Severus." Wormtail nodded curtly in Snape's direction, and Harry paused to appreciate the irony in the traitor's willingness to conspire with whom was once his fierce enemy in order to torture the son of his best friend.

Snape, however, did not offer any acknowledgement whatsoever to the rat. Obviously he, at least, had not given up that grudge.

"_You_!" Harry growled, emerald eyes flashing. Suddenly his pain and weakness seemed to fade away as he faced the fool who had betrayed his parents, betrayed Sirius...

And at the thought of Sirius, Harry could stay still in Pettigrew's presence no longer. Hatred burned in him, and in the space of a second he fully registered the situation.

He was captured, again. He would have to be rescued, again. Was he, who must one day defeat Voldemort himself, going to sit in a corner like a good boy while the grown-ups worked to free him? A fire rose in him – he would no longer be a victim!

And with this thought he sprang forward, agile as a cat, diving for Wormtail. Instinctively, one hand reached for the man's wand while the other hurled his knuckles at his face. Snape cursed. Wormtail's eyes widened in shock and a meager squeaking escaping him as he fell over backwards. A jet of red light grazed Harry's fringe, yet he ignored it. As the pair fell, Harry felt his hand connect with the wand and, wrenching forward with all his might, made to pull it out of the other man's grasp.

Quite unfortunately, he had not taken into consideration Wormtail's super-human metal hand. As Peter clung tightly to the wand and Harry slammed forward, there were two sickening cracks.

As Harry's wand hand connected with Pettigrew's face, an unbearable pain tore through the already broken wrist as the bone shattered, and Harry let out a shout of pain. Simultaneously, with the pressure of Harry's functioning hand and Wormtail's silver one, the thin wand snapped cleanly in half, a slippery thread-like substance falling out from the hollow interior.

"POTTER!" Snape howled, lunging forward for the boy who was now green with pain, yet punching brutally at the rat's face with his free hand.

"YOU BETRAYED THEM! YOU BETRAYED YOUR BEST FRIENDS, YOU SICKENING EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING! BETRAYED SIRIUS! SIRIUS IS DEAD! I SHOULD HAVE LET HIM KILLED YOU! I SHOULD HAVE –"

Harry's words were interrupted as another jet of red light met with the small of his back, and the Stunning fell caused him to dissolve in darkness for the third time in twenty-four hours.

* * *

Arabella Figg burst through the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, causing a muffled gasp of surprise to escape the forms of two girls seated around the warm fire.

"ALBUS! REMUS! HE'S GONE!"

The affect of these words was instantaneous and quite loud. Upstairs, a shrieking voice began to scream loudly.

"FILTH! SCUM! INVADING THE HOUSE OF BLACK! HALF-BREEDS! MUDBLOOD LOVING –"

"SOMEONE SHUT THAT BLOODY THING UP –"

"Arabella?"

"Oy! What's going on?"

"Mum! Someone's just popped out of the fireplace!"

A door slammed open in a distant room, a stampede of footsteps made their way through the kitchen and into the sitting room, which currently housed a very shocked Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Arabella Figg.

First to enter was Albus Dumbledore, who looked as quite as calm as ever, however betrayed his worries as a note of urgency slipped into the soothing voice.

"Arabella? What has happened?"

Remus Lupin closely flanked Albus to his left, and Alastor Moody to his right. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hestia Jones followed, along with a horde of the Order members, while a panting Tonks brought up the rear.

"It's Harry! He's gone, left! Vernon's kicked him out, I've only just found out – Mr. Tibbles was hunting for rats and came back in a panic and –"

"Rats?" Remus had gone completely pale, dark eyes betraying his fears.

Dumbledore said nothing, simply turning to Severus who was now staring downward at the Dark Mark upon his left arm, which had begun to glow faintly.

"It's too late, he has found him." The Potions Master sneered.

And chaos broke out.

* * *

After Notes: What do you think? If you have any suggestions for the plot, let me know! I have it outlined, yet new ideas are always REALLY appreciated. Thanks! Pleeeeaaaaaseeee Review. :D 


	5. Chapter V: Darkness

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.  
  
Author's Notes: Reviiiiiews :D!! A VERY big thanks to Darkaus, Squirrelsaretakingovertheworld (Love your username by the way, so true!), Ikoya (A triple thank you for all the reviews), SpongeMonkey, and Demented Chook. Here's the next chapter, let me know what you think!  
  
Note: By the way, I accidently labeled the last chapter as Four when it should have been Three in case anyone was wondering – sorry about that! Here's the real chapter four.  
  
**The Flight From Death**

Chapter IV: Darkness  
  
When Harry next came to, he immediately wished he could fall unconscious again. The stunning spell, at least, seemed to have saved him a good while of time that would have been spent agonizing over two broken wrists and more then one ugly bruise. For several moments he lay like this, unable to consider moving for fear of causing more damage, so that he did not remember immediately that only a person with a wand could re-awaken one who had been stunned.  
  
This realization, however, came crashing down along with the boot, which collided with his head. With an agonizing sense of déjà vu, emerald eyes snapped open, ignoring the dazed stars to focus upon the grimace of Peter Pettigrew. Yet it was not Wormtail's wand which had restored him, nor, it seemed, was it his foot which had struck him; Severus Snape's greasy head bent over Harry from behind, sneering unpleasantly, wand held arrogantly high.  
  
"I would warn you, Potter, that any further foolish attempts "hero" your way out of this will earn you only pain. Wormtail would be only too willing to torture you, I'm sure." The Potions Master smirked, though his eyes bore warningly down into Harry's and the message was clear: sit down, and shut up.  
  
Wormtail, however, looked far from eager to so much as spit at Harry. His eyes were oddly anxious, and he looked as though he was debating with himself – for a moment Harry fancied he saw a flicker of fear in the older man's eyes.  
  
"S-Sirius is dead?" Obviously the weakness of this statement reached even Pettigrew's ears, for he immediately followed with a half-hearted "Ha!"  
  
The edges of Harry's vision were threatening to go red, yet another furious glare from Snape encouraged him to keep his temper in check. In a terse, disgusted voice that barely masked the pain the thoughts of his godfather still brought him, he replied, "Didn't you hear? Your good death eater friend _Bellatrix_ killed him. He's gone."  
  
Wormtail blanched visibly.  
  
For a few precarious seconds, Harry fought back the crazy instinct to leap at Pettigrew once more. The injustice of it was sickening. How could Wormtail, the filthy traitor who had betrayed his parents, show even the slightest signs of distress over Sirius' death? Had he not sentenced the man to 13 years in Azkaban? Surely anyone willing to leave their friends to rot in _that_ hellhole couldn't be affected by news of their death!  
  
Could he?  
  
Snape seemed ready to turn the atmosphere to the direction he had initially intended it to head in, and quickly interrupted the moments of tense silence.  
  
"Perhaps it would be best, _Wormtail_, if you discarded of the wand Potter destroyed before it sets the room on fire. I'm sure the Dark Lord would be most displeased if you were to return to his services unarmed." Snape's lip curled.  
  
Wormtail grew distinctly paler, and without a word, bent down to gather the broken halves and rubbery dragon heartstring, and swept from the room.  
  
Snape did not wait long before he rounded on Harry (which Harry thought was particularly dim until the realization that the room was probably warded with silencing charms), his greasy face set into a furious scowl.  
  
"What," he spoke in a tone so dangerously low that Harry tensed, certain he was about to be pummeled, "Were you thinking." It was not a question, and Harry would have been best not to respond, however the pain was clouding his intellect.  
  
"Just because you're a sniveling coward doesn't mean I'm going to sit and listen to the slime who betrayed my parents like a good little boy." He regretted the words almost immediately, but mused that his sneer was nearly as good as Snape's.  
  
"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry, who had only just begun to gingerly rise to a sitting position, was slammed backwards against the wall. The onslaught of pain brought on such a wave of fury that he imagined his ears were probably smoking nearly as much as Snape's on wand.  
  
"WHAT WAS THAT FOR? I DON'T HAVE A WAND, STUPID!"  
  
"YOU WILL HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" Snape bellowed, and he rose his wand threateningly when –  
  
SLAM!  
  
Snape was thrown backwards with twice the force Harry himself had been, his head knocking against the stone wall where he slumped to the floor, motionless.  
  
"Oh bugger."

* * *

"What the ruddy hell is taking him so long, Albus?"  
  
Albus Dumbledore peered over his trademark spectacles at an anxious Arabella Figg. Snape had exited Grimmauld Place in order to attend a spontaneous Death Eater meeting. Dumbledore had requested that Snape return to Headquarters as soon as safety would allow with news of Harry's whereabouts and status, and information that might aid them in devising a plan for his rescue.  
  
Three hours later, there was still no news. The Order was beginning to panic.  
  
Tonks, who was still recovering from her encounter in the Department of Mysteries, kept running her fingers through her now electric blue hair, watched carefully by grizzled ex-Auror Alastor Moody, who's magical eye was noticeably still.  
  
Kingsley stood in the far corner, deep in quiet conversation with Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance, and a very flustered looking Dedalus Diggle. Even Dung appeared oddly solemn, his hand inside one of the lumpy pockets of his tattered coat, caught between glancing suspiciously at Alastor's eye and staring glumly at his frayed boots.  
  
Yet these troubled faces were not as worrisome to Dumbledore as the blank eyes, which stared into the flickering flames in the Emergency-Floo Fireplace. Remus Lupin had been all but despondent in the past month, speaking only when spoken to and appearing worse for wear with every passing day. Not since the Potters' deaths had Albus seen him so depressed, yet even now there was a haunting detachment that was entirely new and ill fitted to the normally gentle hearted man.  
  
Dumbledore left Arabella's side (she was now wringing her hands constantly) to join the weary werewolf in front of the fires. Remus did not even blink, seeming almost mesmerized by the dancing flames. Quietly, the Headmaster placed a hand on the man's shoulder.  
  
The werewolf tensed visibly, the placid mask falling away for a moment to reveal eyes haunted with a terrible pain, before he averted Dumbledore's eyes, his voice strained, "I-I had better go check on Ron and Hermione. I imagine they won't be taking this well." And he hurried from the room.

* * *

After Notes: Right! Sorry it took so long, but what did you think? Please Read and Review, even if it's to say something along the lines of, "You have completely destroyed my wonderful mood, and I will hate you for the rest of eternity." :D Flames and constructive criticism are always always welcome. THANKS FOR READING! 


	6. Chapter VI: Questions

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.  
  
**Author's Notes**: I felt terrible about how long I've been taking to plug these chapters out, so I thought I'd make this one longer to compensate. Hope you like it!  
  
**Note**: Sorry to confuse anyone further, but I've decided to simply align the chapter numbers with the page numbers for rather then start Chapter One after the prologue, quite a few people seemed confused over it. My apologies!  
  
**The Flight From Death Chapter**

VI: Questions  
  
Despite the knowledge that he was almost certainly going to pay grievously for this, Harry could not help but feel a sort of smug satisfaction at Snape's current predicament. It had been a good twenty minutes, Harry reckoned, and still the Potions Master showed no signs of returning to the land of the living.  
  
Harry might have assumed that his professor was dead, had it not been for the frequent twitch of his upper lip. Not surprisingly, this provided the nearly sixteen year old with several moments of blissful amusement; even when knocked out cold courtesy of a stone wall, Snape still found the energy to sneer.  
  
He was entertaining the mental image of Snape practicing his trademark sneer in front of a mirror when the enormous wooden door leading to the room creaked ominously.  
  
And through it walked the sole person Harry loathed without remorse, the only person in this world that he might have despised even more so then Voldemort.  
  
Bellatrix Lestrange, as one of Voldemort's tight inner circle, had been notified of Harry's capture almost immediately, however had only received warrant to "greet" him after Snape's prolonged absence. Apparently the Dark Lord had wanted to ensure that Severus had not simply given in to hatred and frustration and simply killed the boy.  
  
Though by the looks of the scene, it seemed more likely that it was quite the opposite way around.  
  
"My, my! But we do have a temper baby Potter, do we not? Is he dead, then?" Far from sounding anxious or furious, Bellatrix appeared thoroughly amused at the situation, prodding the greasy man's shoulder with a perfectly shaped boot, as though he was something disgusting she had found stuck to her heel.  
  
_Patience is golden. Patience is golden. Beating the bloody pulp out of her won't bring Sirius back_. This was hardly a persuasive reason not to attack the pathetic, murderous Death Eater, however, Harry's wrists gave a particularly nasty jolt of pain and he found himself gritting his teeth to avoid crying out. He would _not_ show weakness in front of her.  
  
"I believe," Bellatrix began in a dangerous purr, "That I asked you a question, boy. Have you killed him?"  
  
"No." Harry was now spending far too much energy concentrating on not yelping to offer any witty retort, and while he hated to be civil around her, his current state hardly allowed for anymore heroic stunts.  
  
"Then what, Potter, is he doing draped across the floor with a cracked skull?" She hissed bemusedly.  
  
_A cracked skull_? The better half of him smacked it's forehead in self disgust (This half sounded rather like Hermione Granger), while the other laughed hysterically and performed a crazy dance around the inside of his mind (This half sounded more like Ron Weasley).  
  
"Well?" Her impatient snap reminded him that she had made a query, and reluctant though he was to respond to her at all, his attention span was rapidly draining along with the blood draining from his face as he made the mistake of glancing downward at both wrists - the appearance of which will be spared to avoid causing the reader a loss of appetite.  
  
"He fell. Hit the wall." The words escaped as a growl, fury and pain coursing through his veins, fighting for domination of his attention.  
  
"Fell, did he." This seemed to be another pseudo question. Harry was quickly becoming annoyed with this form of communication – how was one to know whether or not they desired a response? This time, however, he remained silent, mainly out of spite.  
  
"We'll just leave him there." She had returned to the bothersome purr of a voice that she seemed to find seductive and chilling. Harry found it nauseating.  
  
"The Dark Lord tells me you were discovered walking the streets, all by your lonesome little self. Now why should that be so? Surely you realize the dangers of one so _helpless_ to be caught in such a manner." He didn't need his eyes, he could positively hear the smirk in her voice.  
  
She had struck a nerve, and she knew it. _Helpless_, he thought disgustedly, _I fight off a hundred dementors, a basilisk, escape the bloody mad man four times, and still I'm helpless little Harry_. He could feel his fingers twitching, the urge to strangle her was becoming harder to resist, broken wrists or not.  
  
She seemed to be able to read his thoughts (_In fact_, Harry thought, _She probably can. Stupid, sodding legilimency_.)  
  
"Yes, you have the same defiance and thirst that might have made Salazar himself proud. My Lord is right, you have potential, Potter." Harry was disgusted to hear the approval in her voice.  
  
"Your _Lord_ is wrong. I'm not like you, any of you." His voice did not quaver despite the pain. He was not unafraid of death, particularly at the knowledge that it was highly unlikely that she would – or could, for that matter – kill him.  
  
"Are you so sure, little baby? Have you not, after all, attempted the use of the Cruciatus Curse on me only a few months ago? Tell me, Potter, was it wrong to want to cause me pain?"  
  
And although Harry hated her with every fiber in his being, he could not help but note the truth in her words. Had he been wrong to attempt to cast the Unforgivable curse? Did that make him just as bad as Bellatrix? Who was to say that if he had succeeded for longer then only meager seconds, he would not have kept it on her, driven her into insanity just like she had done to Neville's parents?  
  
_You would have done well in Slytherin_.  
  
_No. I'm not a Slytherin. Dumbledore said it is our choices that make us who we are_.  
  
_But wasn't it my_ choice _to cause her the worst agony one can experience? You chose it. Is that who I am_?  
  
Maybe it was.

* * *

The Weasley family and Hermione Granger had gathered solemnly in one of the larger sitting rooms of Grimmauld Place. A few of the teenagers present in the room dully comprehended that the last time they had gathered in such a hopeless occasion it was with the addition of two admired persons who were no longer with them – Sirius Black, and Harry Potter. Mr. Weasley, who had last been the subject of such worry, now sat beside his wife, an arm draped over her shoulder consolingly as she sniffed into a handkerchief.  
  
Every so often a few of the older Weasley brothers would glance anxiously at their youngest brother, who now sat beside best friend Hermione Granger, who was hanging on to his hand for dear life, neither of them seeming to care that his family was present. They were in a state of shock, and seemed to be searching desperately for any ray of hope that Harry might still be alive.  
  
Remus Lupin entered the room soundlessly, and while the children seemed too distressed to notice, Arthur Weasley looked up immediately, patted his wife on the shoulder, and headed toward the kitchen area, glancing pointedly at Remus, who took the sign and followed after him.  
  
The door shut with a soft snap. None of the remaining Weasleys bothered to look up.  
  
"Has Severus returned yet, Remus?" Arthur inquired softly after ensuring that the door was indeed locked.  
  
Remus ran a hand through his hair, a habit his friends had always identified as a sure sign of stress. James in was particularly alert to this sort of behavior. He could spot the slightest sign of worry in any of his three friends almost immediately, and often before the guilty one did even realized they were preoccupied.  
  
Now, of course, there was no one to recognize it.  
  
"No... Even Albus doesn't seem to know what to think about all this. He seems confident that Severus hasn't been discovered, though how he can be so sure I've no idea." Lupin stared dutifully down at his feet while speaking, unable to look at one more expression that reflected the despair he felt inside.  
  
"Harry will be alright, he's made it through trouble before." Yet Arthur didn't sound convinced.

* * *

Severus Snape had never realized it was possible to be dizzy even while one had their eyes closed.  
  
A sticky substance was dripping down his neck, which was propped in a decidedly uncomfortable position. He felt as though he had awoken with an enormous hang over, his head felt fit to burst. For half a second he did not move.  
  
Then reality hit him.  
  
Dark eyes snapped open, and he was forced to resist the urge to rub them like a child. Appearances always came first to the Potions Master, though his glassy vision was quickly driving him mad.  
  
Voices now became clear, he could hear a woman talking –  
  
"Oh –"He swore so violently that Potter's jaw dropped, the foolish boy.  
  
"How nice of you to join us, Severus," Bellatrix smirked, obviously thrilled at the opportunity to catch the single Death Eater she loathed the most in such an embarrassing situation, "Potter was just relaying to me the story of how you _gracefully_ fell and cracked your head open on the wall. I'm sure the Dark Lord would be ever so pleased to hear your account of such an amusing story."  
  
If looks could kill, Potter would be mauled, stuffed, and set on fire.  
  
The idiot boy had forced him into a thoroughly awkward predicament. He must now either accept Potter's rendition of the story (Although he had no doubt that the Dark Lord would never believe such a story) or admit that the boy had outsmarted him with wandless magic. Deciding he'd rather face the Cruciatus Curse then give Potter credit for any accomplishment that required brain power, he vowed to stick with the former.  
  
"I'm afraid the fumes from the Veritaserum I have been preparing had a delayed effect. If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to." Lying flawlessly, he swept from the room, slamming the enormous Yew door unceremoniously behind him.  
  
Silently cursing the Anti-Apparition Hex which had been placed in and around the Riddle Manor, Snape seemed to fly down the rickety steps and out into the night, ignoring the biting cold and chilling silence that reminded him of the dementors still hovering in and around the area, warding off any muggle intruders.  
  
Once he had reached the pathetic stone barrier that marked the boundaries to the mansion, he apparated.  
  
There was a resounding slam as the Potions Master swept through the door to Grimmauld Place, ignoring the unflattering screams of Mrs. Black's portrait upstairs, and entering the door to the drawing room, and the meeting quarters of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
Immediately every ounce of attention turned to Severus, the room grew ghastly silent, though it seemed to buzz with unspoken questions. Remus in particular seemed even more grim then usual, looking as though he was going to be sick.  
  
Albus broke the silence, wasting no time for greetings.  
  
"The boy?"  
  
"Is alive," Snape sneered immediately, appearing furious. It was then that Albus noticed the blood dripping down the back of the younger man's head.  
  
"What happened, Severus?"  
  
"_Potter_, as we suspected, was captured by Pettigrew, who contacted the Dark Lord immediately and joined him by portkey," Snape began, standing stiffly while blood mingled with grease in his hair. Immediately Moody pointed his wand at the wound and muttered, "Ferula", silently thanking the Elementary Healing Knowledge required of all Aurors.  
  
"As I have mentioned before, the locations of Death Eater meetings are constantly changing. We must only apparate to find ourselves at the location of choice. On this occasion, we had returned to the graveyard in which the Dark Lord rose two years ago.  
  
"He placed Potter under the guard of at least twenty Dementors while the meeting was underway, giving us only a vague idea of what he has planned. I have no doubts, however, that he has informed Lestrange and Pettigrew at least what is to occur. To the remainder of us, however, he offered only that he does not plan on killing the boy in the immediate future. Malfoy attempted to convince him otherwise," Snape smirked sickeningly, "However the Dark Lord – ah, _convinced_ him, that Potter is worth more alive then dead.  
  
"After dismissing the lesser, he ordered Lestrange, myself, and a fair few others to remain while he interrogated the boy. I heard the Cruciatus Curse spoken more then once," Tonks blanched, Mrs. Weasley was now trembling violently as Snape continued, "After he had...finished with Potter, he gave me orders to move the boy up to a room inside the Riddle Manor and inform him when he had awoken."  
  
By now Snape's smirk had disappeared completely as he remembered the humiliating scene that followed. As usual, he edited it to his satisfaction.  
  
"Potter awoke, I informed him of the situation, and we were joined by Pettigrew. The foolish boy wasted no time in lunging for Pettigrew, breaking the man's wand in half. After a brief...discussion...Pettigrew departed leaving me with the boy. Immediately the arrogant fool lost his temper, the result of which is spewing blood out of the back of my head."  
  
Albus looked as though he might have suspected that Severus was leaving out a few important details, however motioned for him to continue.  
  
"When I next...awoke, it was to Bellatrix speaking to Potter. She was making use of that despicable persuasive voice the Dark Lord so admires when using the Imperious Curse. What she was attempting to convince him of, and what the Dark Lord now plans to do with him, I have no knowledge of."  
  
The room grew silent, everyone seemed to be worrying over the same question: Now what?  
  
Little did they know that miles and miles away, Harry Potter stared wearily up at the ceiling of Riddle's dark room, the very same question echoing in his own head.

* * *

**After Notes: **There! Hope you enjoyed the double update, this chapter seemed like it wrote itself. Constructive criticism is always appreciated! **Please Review! Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter VII: Temptation

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them. In addition, some of the text in this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and is the property and creation of JK Rowling; none of it belongs to me.  
  
**Author's Notes**: Reviews! I very nearly did cartwheels when I noticed this, however I somehow managed to restrain myself. So now I'll go so far as to follow in the recent trend of responding to reviews! WHOOHOO!  
  
Demented Chook: Love the username. Eh, I think those questions are answered in this chapter!  
  
Kokomocalifornia: Eeek! Didn't realize I had to block-anonymous-reviews thing on. It's off now though! Thanks!  
  
Larna Mandrea: Thanks! Hope you like this one.  
  
Pippin-grl159: Someone made use of my 'ingenious' line! Rest assured I can die happy. Thanks for the review! Perhaps its just my goat that floats...  
  
Slydawn: I'll be sure to do that.  
  
Keran: Thanks!  
  
Sicilian Girl: Sorry about the cliff-hanger! It was too good to resist :D  
  
Lunatic Pandora1: Eurgh, I agree. I've broken one wrist in the past and that was quite enough for me. Although to Harry, it will be something of an advantage.  
  
**Note**: I apologize in advance if I missed any reviews - I type this up one day and post it as soon as time permits. If I did miss anyone, and I spot more reviews later, I'll reply to all of them in the next chapter. Thanks!  
  
**The Flight From Death**

Chapter VII: Temptation  
  
_What now?_ Harry thought desperately at the ceiling above him, half- expecting a logical response. Bellatrix had left with the promise of returning with 'Far more food then you deserve', causing Harry to experience yet another wave of deja vu; honestly, if not for her slight accent, Bellatrix could at that moment have passed for Petunia Dursley.  
  
That thought, however, was hardly encouraging.  
  
Before leaving, the Death Eater had performed a simple spell on his damaged appendages (The same spell, in fact, that Alastor Moody had administered to Severus Snape some hour before) to bandage them securely. Reluctant though he was to admit it, the difference was that of a mountain and a molehill: while he was still in dire need of a proper Mending Charm and Pain Reduction Potion, he no longer felt as though moving either of the wrists would cause him to black out.  
  
All in all, Harry was very ill at ease with this treatment. He was far too experienced in the ways of Voldemort to assume that Bellatrix would be provide magical healing and meals without the Dark Lord's consent. Clearly he was up to something, and though he had been thoroughly persistent in demanding Harry's full knowledge of the Prophecy, a part of him was certain that it was something else.  
  
After all, Voldemort had been more then willing to kill Harry mere months before this incident, and he didn't seem the sort to care about the fine print. Harry, according to Voldemort's knowledge of the prophecy, had the power to destroy him once and for all. The obvious solution to this problem was, of course, to kill Harry and destroy the threat.  
  
Yet as Harry sat, pondering the possibilities, it occurred to him that from Voldemort's stand point, there was another option.  
  
_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is born as the seventh month dies...Born to those who have thrice defied him..._  
  
Dumbledore had said that whomever overhead the prophecy had heard no further then this. Did that mean Voldemort had no idea that when it was all over, one of them would have to die because of the other?  
  
_...For neither can live while the other survives._  
  
It was this portion that made the least sense to Harry. They were both alive now, weren't they? All this speculation was giving him a head ache, yet he could not help but wonder...  
  
If Voldemort didn't know the ending of the Prophecy, was it possible that the reason Harry had been captured...the reason he was still alive...was not to kill him, but to persuade him to join Voldemort?  
  
_Fat sodding chance_, a voice in his head retorted boldly.  
  
But as Harry leaned back against the wall to await another intrusion, his mind drifted into a torrent of memories, so that within moments he was immersed in a cold sweat, mesmerized.  
  
_You worthless killer...  
  
...We'll both take it.  
  
You're less like your father then I thought...  
  
...Did you _love_ him, baby Potter?  
  
CRUCIO!  
  
...no...Harry...  
  
AVADA KEDAVRA!_  
  
"I killed him."

* * *

"Ah, here it is, Albus." Arthur Weasley glanced upward from his desk in the drawing room, raising a newspaper victoriously while a wave of his wand banished the remaining stack to one of the shelves.  
  
Albus Dumbledore held out a hand, the grayed and fading papers flying slowly into his outstretched palm. Readjusting his spectacles, he peered down at the article on the front page:  
  
**Little Hangleton Herald**  
  
_Riddle Family Deaths Have Doctors Riddled  
_  
Moody, who had been peering over Albus' shoulder, laughed bitterly.  
  
"'Riddle family discovered dead...cause of death baffles local experts...' Yes, that's it, alright. And...there it is, Albus, 'Found at their place of residence...'" Moody gestured to the address the editor must have overlooked out of excitement.  
  
Waving his wand, Dumbledore effortlessly conjured a roll of parchment, and with another gentle flick, a quill - fully adorned with ink - sprouted out of the end of his wand.  
  
While discovering the exact location of the Riddle Manor had been a definite jump in the right direction, the Headmaster was far from reassured. If he knew Voldemort - and, having taught Tom Riddle through his years at Hogwarts, and later fought demon who had replaced the student, he considered himself to know the Dark Lord quite well indeed - certain precautions would have been taken to ensure that he would not be outwitted so easily.  
  
Furthermore, it had not taken long to deduce that the man's sinister and despicable sense of humor would lead him to completely reverse the tables that had been set sixteen years ago.  
  
Voldemort would use the Fidelius Charm, however this time, Harry would not be protected from the person who wanted to harm him, he would be protected from the people who would give anything to save him.  
  
And Dumbledore knew just who the Secret Keeper would be. 

* * *

_Fifty Seven...Fifty Eight...Fifty Nine..._  
  
Harry continued to stare upward moodily. He had taken to passing the time by counting the number of tiles on the ceiling. At least it kept him from thinking about the number of ways in which Voldemort might brutally murder him, how badly his back was beginning to throb, and his growling stomach.  
  
_Sixty...Sixty One..._  
  
The door swung open with a creak.  
  
Instinctively, Harry's hand went to his right pocket for his wand - which, of course, was not there, leaving him only to jam his bandaged fingers halfway through the pocket and curse so violently he might have made Voldemort blush.  
  
"Language, little Potter." A chuckling voice only worsened his mood. The single swear word grew into a string of loud obscenities, most of which seemed to involve Bellatrix and a box of Weasley Wizard Wheezes fireworks.  
  
Bellatrix waved her wand lazily, and Harry felt his mouth continue to form words, yet no sound escaped. He scowled.  
  
"The Dark Lord wished me to deliver you these," She began, holding out a small tray laden with half a cup full of soup, some rather dry looking bread, and half a goblet of water.  
  
She waited a moment for a response, however must have remembered her Silencing Spell at the dangerous look on his face. Her grin widened sickeningly, and she waved her wand once more.  
  
"Aren't you going to thank me for delivering your supper, little Potter?"  
  
"I'm watching my weight." Harry drawled in response. His stomach growled mutinously.  
  
"You will eat," She hissed threateningly, "Or I will force you to eat. The Dark Lord does not wish you to starve...yet. He needs you sufficiently energized for what is to come."  
  
"I'm not hungry." Harry growled in response.  
  
"Imperio!"  
  
**Eat. You are hungry.**  
  
_I can't let her win!  
_  
**You haven't eaten in two days. You will eat.**  
  
_I..._  
  
**What could it hurt? Go on...you want to.**  
  
In the end, the perfectly persuasive voice in his mind and his aching hunger won out. The moment the food touched his lips he felt a smug satisfaction that was not his own. But he was hungry, and the food was there.  
  
Perhaps it was a combination of hunger, pain, and the need for sleep that caused it, but for the first time in his life, Harry could not fight off the Imperious Curse.  
  
And somewhere beyond the Riddle Manor, in the depths of a graveyard, Lord Voldemort stood, watching the scene through eyes that were not his own, a chillingly high laugh escaping him.  
  
It had begun. 

* * *

**After Notes**: I know it's a bit short, really sorry – I'm completely bogged down with horse duties. I'll post the next chapter much earlier to make up for it. Thanks for reading! And please review, they brighten up my day after being mauled by a stable full of hungry horses. =) 

Oh, and also to make up for the short length, I'll tell you that the next chapter, Harry will take a risk that will lead to a turning point in his captivity.

So eh..review! Reviews are highly motivating. Really, they should be used for therapy or something...It's 2 in the AM, I'm allowed to be stupid.


	8. Chapter VIII: Desperation

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them. In addition, some of the text in this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and is the property and creation of JK Rowling  
  
**Author's Notes**: More reviews! Thanks a million! This chapter is rather long, as there was quite a lot that needed to happen, and a lot of perspectives to see it from. Please excuse any grammatical errors in it, my head is currently pounding from a few over-enthusiastic horses. So now, as promised, I'll get to the review responses:  
  
Lashajayne: Thanks! Poor Harry is right, I feel terrible for abusing him so.  
  
Kokomocalifornia: This chapter should answer the question, thanks!  
  
Ikoya: That's a tricky one. I tried to stick as closely to the Canon-Snape as possible, so he's a bit complicated. For the most part, he's loyal only to Dumbledore.  
  
LunaticPandora1: That one's answered here as well, thanks for reviewing!  
  
John: Thanks! Voldemort definitely has plans for Harry.  
  
Keran: -cowers- I'm sorry! No, Voldie didn't put anything in the food. I thought that having Harry be able to resist the Imperius after all he's been through would kind of...undermine how difficult it is. Don't worry, he won't go down that easy again. And you were right about the Secret Keeper – more of that is in this chapter as well :D  
  
**The Flight From Death**

Chapter VIII: Desperation  
  
"He is ready, my lord."  
  
"Excellent. Fetch Severus for me. Order him to remain on the first floor while I deal with Potter. See to it that no one else is aware of what occurs behind this door."  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
Footsteps echoed along the corridor as Bellatrix Lestrange made her way down the stairway to the first floor, leaving Lord Voldemort to contemplate the wooden door in front of him, a satisfied simper twisting his snake-like face in a grotesque manner.  
  
Without further hesitation, a wand was withdrawn from the folds of his cloak, and he tapped the doorknob once.  
  
Voldemort did not open doors the _peasant_ way, he had long since deemed himself above such foolishness.  
  
A grim set of emerald eyes followed him as he swept through the doorway, which shut itself behind him promptly.  
  
"Harry Potter..." He hissed.  
  
"Voldemort," Harry replied bluntly, "Now that we've got introductions out of the way, I might as well tell you – before you waste an inordinate amount of time attempting to torture the Prophecy out of me, there's no reason to bother. I'm not telling you." The raven-haired youth continued to leer up at the ceiling, and if his voice was any indication of his mood, he was bored to death.  
  
Voldemort was not amused. In normal occasions, when Voldemort was spoken to in such a manner, the result would be a particularly lengthy dose of the Cruciatus for entertainment purposes only, followed by an immediate Killing Curse.  
  
As appealing as this sounded to the Dark Lord, this was _not_ a normal occasion, and he had no intentions of putting Potter out of his misery. Yet.  
  
Instead, he fixed a sickening smile to his face, crimson eyes glittering with morbid intent. Raising his wand lazily (Potter tensed), he pointed it directly at the boy and murmured, "_Legilimens_."  
  
Instantly, a wave of images appeared in his mind's eye: A boy of thirteen pointed his wand at the heart of a grisly and tattered man; a werewolf struggled to a green eyed teen threw a book at the head of a taller boy with red hair; a sandy haired teenager stared unseeingly upward, as a high voice sneered, "Kill the spare,"; a jet of red light connected with the chest of a once handsome man with dark hair, sending him falling backwards –  
  
"NOOOO!"  
  
A panicked voice cut through the silence as the images in his mind flickered and died. Lord Voldemort smirked downward at the form huddled against the wall. The teenager had fallen to his knees, head in hands.  
  
"You are weak, Potter. You are weak because you allow yourself to love. It is love that will be your downfall, not mine. Your mother's love may have saved you, yet it also sentenced you to ten years in the care of your _muggle_ relatives." The Dark Lord's crimson gaze did not waver from the shadowy figure, only glittered with disgust.  
  
"You hate them, Harry Potter. Do you deny it?"  
  
There was no response.  
  
Voldemort chuckled.  
  
"I thought not." The tall man sauntered lazily toward the fallen boy who would not meet his gaze.  
  
"We are not so different, Harry Potter. I too grew up in the company of muggles. I despised them with every fiber in my being," Even now Voldemort's voice was bitter with hatred, yet he paused, deliberately refraining from including the more personal aspects of his childhood. It would not do to offer more then was necessary.  
  
"You denied my offer at the tender age of eleven, Dumbledore had brainwashed you, no doubt. Yet, all is not lost. My offer still stands – united, we could yield power greater then any seen before. Your friends and their families could be spared, you could choose who would live or die.  
  
And should you refuse? I would destroy all that remains of your family – one by one. All those you hold dear would be eliminated. Tell me, Harry Potter, is love really worth it?"  
  
And with one final sneer at the form crouched below him, Voldemort turned to the door.  
  
And as the wooden entrance shut behind him, he imagined he heard a soft voice float from behind the door – yet surely this was impossible, for the Silencing Wards had not been removed. Casting the notion aside, he swept through the corridor for the staircase to deal with his double agent, attempting to ignore the words, which echoed quietly in the caverns of his mind:  
  
"You're wrong."

* * *

_I have to get out of here._  
  
It was the only thought that registered in Harry's mind as he glanced wearily up at the door from which Voldemort had departed.  
  
Despite his best efforts, he was unable to stop shaking. It was not the Dark Lord's presence which caused such a reaction – he found that he no longer truly feared the man as he had when he was younger – but the memories he had been forced to relive.  
  
Oh, he had seen the last moments of Sirius' life endlessly in his nightmares, it was a horror he relived close to every night after the incident in the Department of Mysteries.  
  
Yet somehow, this was different. This was too real, too vivid. It was as though he had been through it once more, had seen his godfather falling, had _known_ he was going to fall, and had done nothing to stop it.  
  
And then Voldemort had taken advantage of his silence, had spoken of things said before. It should have been no different from the first time he had heard it: easy to ignore, easy to deny.  
  
But it was the discussion of his friends that had turned his head.  
  
Could they really be saved? Could Hermione, Ron and the Weasleys, Lupin – all those who meant something to him be spared from death if only he joined Voldemort? Although a part of his mind screamed that the thought was ludicrous, another part found sense in the words.  
  
_No. No, no, no!_  
  
Panic was quickly rising in Harry's heart – he had to leave, had to leave before he made a decision he would regret. It was no use hoping the Order would find him, only Snape knew of his whereabouts, and after cracking his head open against a stone wall, Harry was less inclined to believe that the professor would be willing to help him.  
  
He had to do this on his own.  
  
Harry stood very slowly, his scar still searing with pain from having been so near to Voldemort. Waiting patiently for the stars to clear from his vision, he moved toward the door and turned the knob.  
  
It was unlocked.  
  
Harry froze. This was too easy, Voldemort wouldn't just leave him in a room uncontained. Surely there was some alarm that would go off if he left, or perhaps he would be struck down dead in the attempt.  
  
Feeling as though it was worth the risk, Harry opened the door and stepped through.

* * *

"My lord." Severus Snape dropped to the floor, kneeling before Voldemort.  
  
"Severus," Voldemort drawled, waiting some moments before uttering, "Rise."  
  
Snape rose, though he was careful to remain lower then Voldemort – to stand equal would be considered insolent, and would be punished. So too, he gazed not into the Dark Lord's eyes, but down at his own boots.  
  
"You called, my lord?"  
  
"So I did, Severus," The Dark Lord's lips curled into a disgusting smirk before he continued, "Tell me, is Dumbledore aware of Potter's absence yet?"  
  
"He is, my lord." Severus felt himself tense, as he always would when these discussions arose. Every word had to be judged with caution – he could not say too much or too little. Lies were avoided unless fully necessary.  
  
"How?" The man's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, his impatience grew.  
  
Immediately Severus wiped his mind blank of all emotion, concentrating only on his words.  
  
"I do not know, my lord. Dumbledore is particularly tight lipped about the protections he has undoubtedly placed upon Potter's place of residence. I would presume that a ward of some sort was activated when Potter left the house."  
  
"Look me in the eye, Severus."  
  
Snape raised his dark gaze to meet Voldemort's.  
  
A few tense moments swam by, Severus could feel his mind being searched, yet concentrated only upon the words he had spoken, shutting down all other emotions, until –  
  
"Very well. I knew that the old fool would learn of it eventually, this merely quickens the process. It is of no concern, my plans will not be thwarted by a senile mudblood lover."  
  
Severus, who had been restraining himself from breathing a sigh of relief, remained silent.  
  
"You are dismissed, Severus. Fetch Wormtail, I will need him to keep watch over Potter while I attend to...other business." Voldemort's eyes glittered dangerously.  
  
"Of course, my lord." Kneeling once more, Severus paused before rising from his knees, and sweeping from the room.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew had seated himself in an old dining room off to the side of the main hall of Riddle Manor. He was required to remain on site at all times, never exiting from the mansion for several reasons. One reason was that Voldemort had long since deemed Wormtail as his personal servant, and he remained to cater to the Dark Lord's every whim, and to deal with Death Eaters who wished an audience with Voldemort. Needless to say, these conferences were few and far between.  
  
The second reason, and the source for all his current thoughts and worries, was his new status as the Riddle Manor Secret-Keeper. Voldemort had taken a great deal of pride when he had come up with the idea of using the Fidelius Charm, and more particularly in using Peter as the Secret-Keeper. He seemed to think it quite clever to use Dumbledore's own ideas against him.  
  
But Peter did not think it clever, (Not that he dared announce this in Voldemort's presence, of course) nor did he take any pride in his role. All it brought him were memories of James and Lily, of what he had done so many years ago.  
  
Peter had loved his friends, had loved James as a brother. James had always been protective of him, for Peter was the weakest of the group. He was not proud of betraying them, and not a day went by that he did not think of the friends he had had.  
  
But it had been his own choice to join Voldemort, and at the time it had seemed perfectly logical. It was clear to him that Voldemort would win the war, that there was no use in fighting him. And so he had joined him, joined in hopes that he would save his own life, and that, perhaps, he could convince Voldemort to steer away from the lives of his own friends.  
  
And then the Prophecy had been made. And as the Potters became Voldemort's number one target, the Dark Lord knew exactly who could aid him.  
  
Peter became a spy, and while he felt a pang of guilt in betraying the trust of his friends and of Dumbledore, he remained convinced that he could do something – anything, to save the situation.  
  
He had been wrong, of course. And when the choice had come in dying or betraying his friends, Peter's courage had faltered.  
  
The Potters had been killed.  
  
And now, Sirius was gone too.  
  
He buried his head in his hands. He had never meant for this – for _any_ of this – to happen. But as anyone can admit, lies become easier the more you tell them, and Peter's personality had gone steadily downhill, to the point where he had framed Sirius for the death of the Potters in order to save his own life.  
  
But the idea that a person he had known his entire life had slipped away, and he hadn't even realized it. That was frightening – and it scared Peter to death.  
  
"The Dark Lord calls, Pettigrew. You're to go and guard Potter." Severus Snape's voice came out of nowhere, and Peter jumped, emitting an instinctive squeak of terror. By the time he had removed his hands from their position shielding his face, the Potions Master was gone.  
  
Sighing, he rose to his feet, trembling all the while, and went to guard the son of the friend he had betrayed.

* * *

Harry couldn't believe his luck – he was out of the doorway and there was nothing but silence. Still, he moved soundlessly with years of experience from sneaking around the Dursley household to steal food.  
  
He reached the end of the corridor, and, very cautiously, craned his head around the corner, peering down the staircase, his stomach dropping at the sight that met his eyes.  
  
There, seated at the bottom of the staircase with his back facing Harry, was Wormtail.  
  
Harry did not bother to stop and think, his mind was afloat with panic, the only thought that registered was that he _had_ to leave.  
  
Silently, he crept downward, one step at a time.  
  
He was getting closer...  
  
Wormtail was not far from reach, if he could just ambush him...  
  
A stair creaked beneath him, and Wormtail wheeled around.  
  
Harry lunged, careful not to make the mistake of attacking with his wrists again. He leapt downward toward the older man, throwing his shoulder into his chest, sending the two of them sprawling to the ground.  
  
Peter squeaked incessantly, a panicked look evident in his watery eyes. Out of shock, he dropped his wand.  
  
Harry didn't wait to pummel the man. Reaching for the wand, he clasped his fist around it and struggled to his feet, racing down the corridor toward the door with every ounce of speed he possessed.  
  
He flung the door open, his heart soaring.  
  
He was free! He had done it! He was so elated that he almost didn't notice the bone-chilling cold that permeated through him.  
  
And the horde of Dementors glided slowly forward.

* * *

After Note: As much as I hate to end it on that note, my time on the computer is running short, and I promised to get this up early. Because I hate cliffhangers as much as the next person, I'll post the next chapter up ASAP. Thanks for reading! 


	9. Chapter IX: Uncertainty

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them. In addition, some of the text in this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and is the property and creation of JK Rowling  
  
**Author's Notes**: Eurgh. I feel really terrible about the length of this chapter and the delay, I've been completely bogged down sick. I'm just now getting rid of all this ridiculous vertigo, but my time on the computer is limited. I'll get the next chapter out as soon as possible! Really sorry again, please stick with me! I'll make up for all this, I promise!  
  
**The Flight From Death**

Chapter IX: Uncertainty  
  
Harry felt as though his heart had completely stopped beating, he couldn't breathe, and his trembling had nothing to do with the chilled air surrounding the Dementors.  
  
_Don't panic.._  
  
There were too many, it was his third year all over again, yet this time, there was no Time Turner to save his life.  
  
He was going to be kissed.  
  
_Don't panic.._  
  
The Dementors were thoroughly excited as they sensed his presence exiting the mansion, and they moved ever nearer.  
  
Harry struggled to think. He could still escape. If he retreated back into the Riddle Manor, he could overpower Wormtail and Floo to Hogwarts. Surely Voldemort would have one fireplace connected to the Floo Network! Or perhaps he could find an owl and send a message to Dumbledore.  
  
The logic meant nothing to Harry – his mind would not allow him to set foot back into Voldemort's lair. He would not be a prisoner again. He would face the Dementors, and he would not be taken down without a fight.  
  
The dementors were closing in.  
  
_"You worthless killer..."_  
  
Happy – he had to think something happy!  
  
Getting past the dragons in the First Task – being friends with Ron again!  
  
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He shouted. Pettigrew's wand smoked feebly.  
  
Seeing his parents in Snape's Pensieve!  
  
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A silver vapor gushed out, glowing slightly before vanishing completely.  
  
_"I'll never let you touch my family!"_  
  
_"Not Harry!"_  
  
There was a constant ringing in Harry's ears, he couldn't think – couldn't concentrate. He knew it was over, knew there was nothing that could save him now.  
  
Somewhere in the distant muggle village, a dog barked loudly.  
  
An enormous, bear-like black dog resting his paws on Harry's shoulders.  
  
"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"  
  
And now, two things happened in quick succession. An enormous BANG! could be heard from the door behind Harry as Wormtail skittered through after him and froze at the sight of so many Dementors.  
  
At the same time, a silver stag shot out from the end of Pettigrew's wand, which Harry still clasped firmly. The stag charged forward at the endless ocean of Dementors, bowing its head threateningly, slowly corralling the monsters back, away from Harry and Pettigrew. Miraculously, the biting cold began to recede, so that Harry hardly noticed that the horde of Dementors was gliding slowly toward the muggle village, away from the Riddle Manor.  
  
As the last of the beasts glided mournfully away, Harry's silver stag loped serenely toward him. Still trembling, Harry turned to greet his Patronus, yet the vaporous creature moved past him.  
  
Turning to follow the path of his Patronus, Harry noticed Wormtail for the first time.  
  
Pettigrew had blanched, the look on his face might have been comic were the circumstances not so serious. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he took a step backwards, away from the stag illuminated in the night.  
  
Harry had never seen anyone so terrified as Wormtail was at that moment, as the silver stag gazed solemnly at him and he gazed back.  
  
"P-Pr-Prongs..." He breathed.  
  
And then, his eyes rolling back into his head, Pettigrew fainted, and the silver stag dissolved in the night air.  
  
Harry stood, his heart pounding. His eyes darted from Wormtail, to the Riddle Manor, and back to where the Dementors had once barred his path.  
  
He found it cruelly ironic that this very year at Hogwarts, he would have learned to Apparate. Cursing beneath his breath, he was momentarily deterred from his panic-stricken thoughts by a tall, shadowy figure making their way toward him in the distance.  
  
Harry began to back away, his mind searching frantically for some way out of this situation.  
  
And then it hit him.  
  
_The Knight Bus!_

_

* * *

_

**_After Notes:_** I know, it was terrible and short and terribly short. As for the next chapter, which I'll make sure to force out later this week, ill or not, Harry's not going to get out of it this easily, never you worry.

__

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	10. Chapter X: Anxiety

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them. In addition, some of the text in this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and is the property and creation of JK Rowling  
  
**Author's Notes**: I really appreciate the reviews, especially after I made everyone wait all that time. I am starting to get better (however slowly!) so getting on the computer isn't so much of a problem anymore. Thanks!  
  
Oh! And to answer a popular question, the dog that barked in the muggle village was completely random, but it triggered Harry's memory of an event with Sirius at King's Cross Station in Book Five. Sorry if I didn't make that clear enough!  
  
**The Flight From Death**

Chapter X: Anxiety  
  
For the fifth time in a row, Harry thrust out his wand hand into the night air; and for the fifth time in a row, nothing happened. So great was his frustration that a stream of gold sparks shot out from the end of Pettigrew's wand, missing his shoes by inches and setting fire to a patch of weeds in front of the Manor.  
  
Cursing beneath his breath, Harry forced himself to think.  
  
Why wasn't the Knight Bus appearing? He was certain he was doing it right—honestly, there wasn't much to it—and he was fairly certain it wasn't Pettigrew's wand that was malfunctioning...perhaps Voldemort had wards that prevented other wizards from coming too near. The theory sounded off, however it was all he had to go on.  
  
Making up his mind, Harry set off at as fast a pace he dared with an abundance of bruises and breaks in the direction of the muggle village. Surely Voldemort's wards wouldn't extend that far, and while it might be foolish to stroll through the roads with a wand in one hand and looking as though he had recently been run over by the Hogwarts Express, he hardly cared about such matters now.  
  
Harry had managed to make his way to the edge of the Riddle property when he heard it.  
  
At first, Harry was sure it was another Dementor. It had the same, crackling sound as the creatures' rasping breaths. Yet when he turned around, wand outstretched and ready to fight for his life, it was not a Dementor that met his gaze.  
  
A fire was sprouting rapidly from the weeds he had unknowingly set on fire, and it was quickly curling its way upward. The wooden planks lining the outside of the door to the manner went up in flames, and Wormtail lay inches from the growing inferno.  
  
Harry froze, watching in horror, as the blaze grew larger.  
  
"Come on...wake up..._come on_!"  
  
But Wormtail did not stir.  
  
The decision was not a conscious one—though a part of Harry was cursing Gryffindor nobility—but it could mean the difference in making it out of Voldemort's clutches alive. Stumbling forward, Harry felt as though he were running back into the jaws of a hideous monster. By now, the smoke was furling its way upward into the sky, but Harry still felt himself cough and sputter as he neared the flickering flames.  
  
Reaching Wormtail, Harry lunged downward, grasping the pudgy man about the upper arms. Immediately, Harry felt his bandaged arms scream in protest, but there was no time to get comfortable; the fire was now growing in intensity, and he could feel the sweat begin to trickle down his forehead.  
  
With an enormous lurch, Harry managed to drag the man several paces backward (_Wouldn't mind it if he was a rat now, would you_? Taunted an amused voice in the back of Harry's mind) leaving him panting for breath. This was simply not going to work, Harry was not capable of any more heroic bursts of strength, his wrists were now searing with pain reminiscent of when they had first been broken, and the smoke was suffocating...  
  
Harry couldn't think, his entire body ached with fatigue and pain. Desperately, he tried to keep his eyes from closing, but it was no use. The last thing he saw before everything went black was a look of panic in a pair of beady little eyes.

* * *

"Severus?" Dumbledore glanced up from his plate laden with heaps of Molly's homemade meal, as the door to the dining room slammed open. Remus jumped, following the headmaster's gaze, while seven red-haired persons followed suit.  
  
Severus Snape had gone completely pale—paler then usual, which was quite a task in itself—and had the appearance of a man returning from the fields of a horrible battle. His grimy hair was out of place, and the usually composed sneer was notably absent.  
  
"Albus," Snape beckoned curtly, not bothering to spare a contemptuous glance at the Weasleys.  
  
Albus rose promptly from his chair, glancing apologetically at Molly, before sweeping calmly through the door, which shut with a gentle click behind him.  
  
"Is there a—"  
  
"The Riddle Manor was completely engulfed in flames some hours ago, the only two whom were currently in residence were Wormtail and Potter. Both are missing."  
  
Severus did not need to voice the most probable result that had occurred, Dumbledore understood immediately from the other man's spooked expression.  
  
"Everyone in the Order is to abandon their current task and report to Little Hangleton immediately. If Harry is still alive, it is imperative that Voldemort does not find him first," Dumbledore's weary tone of voice indicated his prediction, "Please ensure that no word of this reaches the Daily Prophet."  
  
Severus offered a curt nod before exiting swiftly to alert the remaining Order members.  
  
Raising his hands to his face, several moments passed before Albus returned to the dining area to speak with several of the occupants.

* * *

"WORMTAIL!" Voldemort's wrath was a horrible thing to witness, yet far worse to receive. Several of the Death Eaters who were now busy extinguishing the fiery mansion shuddered at the sound.  
  
"WORMTAIL, YOU BLUNDERING FOOL! SHOW YOURSELF!" The door to the Riddle Mansion was ripped from its hinges, leaving Voldemort to storm through the smoking doorframe.  
  
Wormtail had not died in the fire, of this Voldemort was certain. The rat was alive, fleeing no doubt to avoid facing Voldemort's fury. As for Potter...he too, was alive. Voldemort could sense it in his very being, the bond created when Harry had received his scar would immediately have alerted the Dark Lord if the boy had been killed.  
  
No, both were alive, and while Wormtail hardly had the gumption to pursue Potter without assistance, Voldemort had no doubt that the rat had an idea as to where the boy had gone. He would find Potter and the blubbering coward, and both would be killed.  
  
He had been excruciatingly close to breaking down Potter's will, intoxicating his mind with thoughts of doubt and uncertainty—so close had he been to success, that Voldemort had been more arrogant in the past few days then perhaps ever before. And now? Now it was all to waste. Again Wormtail's stupidity had nearly been his downfall.  
  
"This is far from over." The words were little more then a hiss lost in the soft sizzling of dying flames.

* * *

Harry awoke with a roar of pain as his head seemed to split into two halves along his scar, a terrible fury like none he had ever experienced flooded his senses.  
  
It was the want to cause pain, the want to kill.  
  
Green eyes snapped open, and the world spinned precariously before slowing enough for Harry to discern his surroundings. For a moment he lay in this manner, completely exhausted and bemused, until the memories flooded back to him.  
  
Fire.  
  
Drowning in smoke.  
  
Wormtail.  
  
_Wormtail_!  
  
Panicking, Harry bolted upright, nearly knocking his glasses clear from his face.

_My glasses_?  
  
Baffled, he reached up gingerly—his wrists felt as though they had caught fire along with the house—and removed the framed spectacles.  
  
How was it that they had managed to survive his frantic actions? And an even better question—how had _he_ managed to survive?  
  
Noticing for the first time that he was trembling, Harry allowed himself to study the area. He was in what appeared to be a cramped room, paint was peeling from the walls. Overhead, a single light bulb flickered occasionally, casting an eerie yellow glow beneath it.  
  
Harry could see no furniture, nor decorations of any kind. It appeared that the place was void of everything, save the walls and he.  
  
As Harry moved awkwardly to stand, his arm brushed over a crumpled parchment to his left. Still shaking, he leaned forward to pick it up, cleaned the lenses of his glasses on robes still covered in ash, and read the only three words on the page before it fell from his hands and fluttered to the ground:  
  
**Now we're even.**

* * *

**After Notes**: Again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, it was very nice seeing that people continue to stick with the story even while I'm sick like this. Anyway, I'm typing this up at 2 AM armed with three bottles of water and a bag of cough drops. Thanks very much for the reviews, I hope you keep reading! Next chapter will be up ASAP! 


	11. Chapter XI: Complications

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.

**Author's Notes**: I know, it took obscenely long to get this chapter out. I was completely out of it for a week, apparently what I thought was wrong with me was a great deal more complicated then we knew. Anyway, I'm back to full health (I hope!) and can't wait to continue writing. I will not abandon this story! I spent the time I was sick outlining the chapters to make it easier to type out and stay to the plot. Thanks so much for bearing with me, the next chapter will be quite long to make up for it and out as soon as humanly possible.

**The Flight From Death**

Chapter XI: Complications

As Harry Potter tramped through the thick confines of a nearly pitch black thicket, his gratitude toward Wormtail had notably diminished. Had his mother been alive and near him (and not hugging him to death or wailing over the state he was in) she would have been thoroughly appalled at the terms he was currently using to describe his 'rescuer'.

"...And if I ever see him again I swear I'll beat the bloody hell out of him, and we'll just _see_ if there's a finger left when I'm through with him! Maybe _this_ one!"

A squirrel chattered disapprovingly overhead at the hand gesture Harry displayed to the general forest. Annoyed, Harry kicked a pinecone at the offending rodent, however it succeeded only in rebounding off of the tree trunk and nailing him in the forehead, leaving a distinctly pine-cone shaped scar over the lightning one.

It had been several hours since he had been able to leave the haunted cabin, and Harry had been highly eager to do so. He would have left sooner had he not developed a highly embarrassing nosebleed (he suspected it might have had something to do with all of the smoke he had inhaled) and had to tear a strip off of Dudley's baggy old shirt and use it to clog his nose while he waited for the bleeding to cease.

By the time he had recovered he nearly tripped over his feet in the haste to leave the cottage—while Harry was in general agreement with Hermione that Divination was a bunch of bollocks, he could not help but notice the foreboding aura within the building. It felt almost as though something had died there, and the wallpaper was peeling from one corner along a jagged series of slashes. He decided he would far rather live in ignorance then come upon the knowledge of to whom the cottage belonged...and what had happened to them.

It had been after a few very short moments of mental deliberation that Harry had decided to take off. His method of deciding was taken from two years ago, on his fourteenth birthday, when he had sat and considered what his friends' might have said in this sort of situation. Hermione's opinion had come quite easily:

_"You let them take your _wand_? Oh, Harry, honestly...well you had just better stay where you are and wait for Dumbledore and the Order to find you. I'm sure they're looking for you right now..."_

Ron's, on the other hand...

_"Stay where you are? Are you _mad_? Voldemort wants to kill you! Run like mad and hope you don't get eaten by whatever lived in that cottage!"_

And Sirius would say—

Harry kicked himself mentally and quickened his pace to an awkward jog, refusing to stray back into that subject. For once, it had been easy to agree with Ron. Harry remembered faintly one of his early school teachers lecturing the small group of six year-olds that if they ever found themselves lost without their mummies and daddies, to stay where they were and not move until their parents came back to find them. Upon hearing this, Harry had refused to move from his seat for the rest of the day, determined not to move from the spot until his parents came to take him home. The poor woman had nearly been in tears as she explained the situation to the Dursleys, who dragged him unceremoniously home and locked him in the cupboard with no meals for the rest of the day.

Not surprisingly, Harry had since then stopped worrying when he was lost (which was quite rarely, as the Dursleys never took him anywhere) and went on his way. This was no different. For all he knew, the Order had long since stopped searching for him. Voldemort could have informed them he was dead for all he knew, and staying in one place wouldn't do him any good. While the Order might have had no idea where he was, there was a great chance that Peter was simply attempting to put Harry's guard down and would tip off Voldemort the first chance he got.

So here he found himself: out in the middle of nowhere without a wand, food, water, or any sign of human habitation. Clearly Pettigrew's views on justice were a little more then slightly stunted. Then again, this was the man whom had betrayed his best friends and spent twelve years as a rat. Clearly logic was a rare token item in the Wizarding population.

But for now he would walk—or jog, as the situation permitted—and lengthen the wait until his impending death. He wondered briefly what Voldemort would do if he was eaten by a bear before the madman could get to him.

A loud, shattering howl split the air, and Harry found himself moving faster then before.

_Or a wolf_.

* * *

Remus Lupin gazed silently at the battered remains of what had once been his home: a small, dingy cottage in the middle of nowhere. He had built it with his own hands years upon years ago, soon after graduating from Hogwarts. Prongs and Padfoot had helped.

_But only a little_.

The memory of that particular argument brought the shadow of a smile to the war-beaten face of the werewolf, but it was almost instantly replaced with the stoic expression he had grown accustomed to wearing lately. It was the expression of a man who had been beaten and outsmarted, but who still lived. Sometimes he wondered how it was that Dumbledore could read a person's every thought, for immediately after Sirius had...after the accident, Albus had arrived at Grimmauld Place to have a very long talk with Remus about his importance.

"We must continue to live even when all hope has failed us, Remus. You are now the only link that Harry has to his past, and the greatest role model in his life...."

And he had gone on in this manner for a very long time. Remus appreciated Dumbledore's concern; he had even made every effort to do as he was told and to live for Harry. But he did not do it happily; it was a job he had never wanted. This was Sirius' life that he was living, James' life. They should have been with Harry, not him. After all, if James had wanted Remus to be there for Harry, he would never have shut him out. Would never have believed that he would do what Peter had done. It was this that had kept him away from Harry throughout his entire childhood—if James had wanted him to keep his distance, he would do so. No matter how much he cared about the only link to his friends that he had left.

_Enough_.

Growling at his own inner dispute, Remus turned his attention to the task at hand once more. The Order's magic detectors (which Remus strongly suspected had been smuggled out from the ministry by a few skilled aurors) had reported magical activity in a magic remote area. Since Harry's capture, Dumbledore had been very insistant in keeping him occupied with minor jobs for the Order—in other words, anything that didn't concern Harry or Wormtail in the least. This had seemed like the perfect task for him, for the activity had centered on the cottage he had once taken residence in to transform.

Odd jobs like these were in surplus, for the Order might as well have been an extended and more efficient branch of the Auror Department of the Ministry. Any magic in muggle inhabited or remote areas was to be inspected to ensure that it was not a Death Eater hideout, or what Arthur Weasley called "muggle baiting". Personally, Remus thought it was a waste of time, and Moody seemed to agree with him, because the rule-bound ex-Auror had thrown aside conduct and sent Remus without a partner—everyone else was busy on the hunt for Harry or Pettigrew.

Still, it wasn't every day that one revisited the place they had spent years of their lives in, and it was Albus' hope that returning to Canid Cottage (Sirius had nicknamed it, to the indignant objections of the two non-canine Marauders) would allow him to think back on several fond memories and mourn his friends in a healing manner. It was one of the few times in Dumbledore's later years that he was entirely wrong.

Reluctantly, Remus pushed open the wooden door, which squeaked wearily at him. As shadowed eyes met the inside of the house, a sudden onslaught of memories hit him:

Unbearable, familiar pain. Trying not to scream in front of his friends. Failing.

An encouraging whine from Padfoot, and the anxious stamping of Prongs' cloven hooves.

A rat scuttling eagerly across the floor.

The smell of blood on the air.

Remus' heart began pounding so loudly that he could nearly hear it echoing off the walls and through his ears. For a moment he was afraid he couldn't breathe, but as his senses came back to him he took a long, shuddering breath.

But the smell of blood was still there.

That couldn't be right—could it? No one had been in here for over a decade, and while it had always smelled of blood in the past (due mainly to the good-natured sparring of Moony and Padfoot) it had been long, far too long for the scent to linger this strongly.

And there was another smell, he recognized it immediately and felt the panic rising in him again. Franticly he bent down, scourging the floors for hidden clues as to what had happened, so that he nearly missed the clues right in front of his face.

A shuddering hand reached for the strip of cloth that seemed to have been dyed an odd color of red. Noticing the crumpled parchment for the first time, a sudden feeling of terror would not allow him to pick it up for several long moments. Then, moving the damp cloth to his free hand, he picked up the pale note and read the three simple words in a handwriting he had seen so many times before.

For half a second he couldn't understand, and then...

He dropped the crimson cloth as though it had attacked him, staring in horror down at the fabric, which he now realized was coated in blood.

And then he understood.

Wormtail had done it. Wormtail had killed Harry.

It was revenge for Lupin and Black's intentions to kill him in the Shrieking Shack, for all of the times the Marauders teased pudgy Peter, for the jealousy Wormtail had always felt when he saw what lengths James would go to help Remus.

He had killed Harry, taken the only thread to his past that Remus had, that kept him from falling into insanity.

And suddenly Remus knew what he had to do. He would find Wormtail. He would finish the job that Sirius had started. He would find the rat...

And he would let the wolf kill him.

**Now we're even.**

* * *

_After Notes_: Short, I know, but I couldn't move on to what happens next without having to merge this chapter with the next. The next chapter will be up ASAP, thanks so much for everyone who'se sticking with me. I really appreciate it.


	12. Chapter XII: Confusion

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.

**Author's Notes**: Finally! This chapter was slightly...hmmm...the beginning scene didn't want to come out right, and the end practically wrote itself...anyway, tell me what you think. I hope it's alright...please read and review, I love reading them!

**Note**: There is some very mild language and violence in this chapter, however, nothing above and beyond the extent of that which might be seen in the canon.

**The Flight From Death**

Chapter XII: Confusion

"P-please...I don't know where he is..."

"Crucio!"

Peter Pettigrew collapsed in pain once more, screaming as loudly as his lungs would permit without bursting from his chest as tears streamed down his face. It was a full minute before the curse was let up, and by this time Wormtail had abandoned any hope of rising to his feet—he began to wish for the first time in his life that he would die; anything would have been easier then this.

_Don't tell him, you can't tell him. You can't betray James again! Stay quiet, don't look at him, don't tell him_...

"Imperio."

**Tell him, go on. Tell him where Harry is.**

_But James..._

**Tell him.**

_I can't...please, no..._

**TELL HIM!**

"Canid Cottage."

_No..._

Peter blanched, horror flowing through his entire body. He had told Voldemort, he had sold out his best friend's son just as he had done to his best friend. This couldn't be happening, he had to do something!

"I have dealt with your insolence and sniveling weakness for long enough, Wormtail. _Avada_—!"

But with a small pop, Peter Pettigrew was gone, and Wormtail scuttled from the scene, squeaking incessantly as he darted away into the darkness, and was gone.

"FOOL! _ACCIO_ _RAT_!"

Seconds later, a panic-stricken gray rat zoomed into the long, outstretched fingers of Voldemort.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"Headmaster, the magical detectors are reporting high activity in a very strange place. It's labeled on the map as 'Canid Cottage', but I've never heard of—"

Emmeline Vance was pushed rudely out of the way as Alastor Moody commandeered her position in front of the magical detector, which was illuminated by thousands of tiny, glowing lights in an array of colors, the majority of which were green. Moody, however, did not spare a glance at the flickering green areas, his attention locked upon one of the few red areas upon the map. Written neatly above the light were two, miniscule red words which currently read: "Canid Cottage".

Moody swore violently.

"Vance! VANCE! Oh—for Merlin's sake, woman, what are you wasting time down there for? Never mind. Apparate to Canid Cottage immediately, he'll need back up!"

Thankfully, Vance did not bother commenting on Mad-Eye's lack of manners. Rising swiftly to her feet, she flew from the room.

Moody hobbled as quickly as his old legs (or what was left of them) would carry him for the fireplace. So jerky were his movements that as he reached for the small jar of Floo Powder beside the hearth, the container nearly bit his hand off in indignation. Ignoring this, he threw the handful into the fireplace and stepped into the flickering blue flames.

"Albus Dumbledore's office, Hogwarts!"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"—And I hate rats, and if you come with me I promise I'll find you a nice big fat one to eat. He's got a bit of a deformation, though. I hope you don't mind silver paws. Are you a boy, then? Only, I've got a wonderful snowy white friend for you at Hogwarts. She can be a bit temperamental sometimes, but I'm sure you'll get on fine."

A large eagle owl hooted derisively down from the large branch he was seated on, before taking wing into the bleak night sky.

"I hate owls."

As though in response to his statement, there was a loud rustling in the distance as a large group of birds took off wildly into the air.

Harry had been conversing with the owl for the last quarter of an hour, and was not at all gratified by it's sudden decision to abandon him. A part of him did not really expect the undomesticated creature to submit willingly to his request, however even the company had been appreciated. But now, he was alone once more.

Night was beginning to fall—the appearance of owls was the only indication, for the thick range of trees would not allow Harry to see any further then the sky directly above him, aside from patches of light streaming down between overhanging branches. What was more, his stomach was beginning to protest the general lack of food, and nearly every other part of him had yet another complaint to voice. Prime on the list was thirst; it had been a very long time indeed since Harry had gone so long without water, and the heat of the Riddle inferno had only added to his discomfort.

At last, he had to sit down, panting and exhausted. He was no closer to finding his way to civilization then he had been three hours ago, and the situation was beginning to seem hopeless. If only he had magic....

It might have been dehydration. It could also have been fatigue, but the idea struck Harry as pure brilliance. After all, his wand was made of wood from a tree, wasn't it? Grasping one of the lower branches from his seated position, Harry pulled with all his might. In the end, it was not really necessary, for the branch was half-dead, and he nearly fell over backwards when it snapped readily off from the bark.

With a laugh of triumph, Harry raised the wand, thought of the look on old Voldie's face when he Harry once again survived his clutches, and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum_!"

Nothing.

The thought of the pearly white stag leading him out of the darkness began to fade in Harry's mind. Perhaps the spell was simply too advanced, perhaps he wasn't performing it correctly. Yes, that must be it.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The chipmunk refused to levitate, staring insolently at him.

"_Sonorous_! GET ME OUT OF HERE!" Harry bellowed, yet his voice was no louder then it normally was when he was venting off a bit of anger at an innocent bystander, though it did manage to frighten away the chipmunk.

"_Sonorous_! _Sonorous, sonorous, sonorous_! OW!"

After managing to poke himself in the eye with the stick, Harry gave up, and let sleep pull him down.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"_You_!"

Peter let out a squeak of terror not unalike that of his Animagus form. One hand flew for his wand, but by the time he had turned around to face the enemy, Remus' wand was already pointed directly at his heart.

"Moony!" To say the least, Lupin was surprised to note that rather then the blind fear and cowardice he had expected, there was a definite tone of relief in Pettigrew's voice. _But not for long_.

"Moony, you've got to help me, I've—"

"Don't you remember, Peter? Moony isn't here. Moony doesn't like the sun." Remus' tone of voice was just as pleasant as always, yet there was a dangerous note to it that Peter had only heard once before, and on that occasion it had been directed at Sirius rather then himself.

"P-Please, we've got to—"

"But you're in luck, Peter! You'll get to see Moony after all! Won't that be wonderful? I'm sure he's _dying_ to see the rat who framed his pack mate. Come now, haven't you been keeping track? Tonight's the full moon!"

Peter blanched.

"Remus...Remus no..." There was a desperate fear behind Wormtail's words now, however, Remus discarded it as simple cowardliness.

"Terribly sorry, Peter, but you'll have to take it up with Moony. There's only twenty seven minutes left until full moon...you're not in any hurry, surely?"

"Remus, listen to me! It's about Harry!"

Remus' expression of calm hatred changed instantly into blind fury, his features contorted into a wolf-like snarl that Pettigrew had never seen before on the face of his friend. Then again, it was a rare occasion that one found Remus Lupin so angry.

"About how you murdered Harry, you mean? Just like James! Isn't that right, old friend?"

"Please...this is all my fault..."

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT!"

Peter's arms rose up to cover his face, cowering before the form of his ex-best friend. When he dared to glance up, he thought he could see a red gleam behind Remus' usually calm eyes. There wasn't much time.

"YOU KILLED THEM! ALL OF THEM, PETER! James, Lily, now Sirius! None of them would be dead if it weren't for you! We'd all still be here! WHAT HAPPENED TO LOYALTY? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MARAUDERS?"

Remus' wand was now emitting a faint siren-like noise, and it did nothing to improve the werewolf's temper. With a strangled noise, Lupin began to pace across the floor of the cottage, fuming.

All desperation left Peter at that instant, and for the first time in over sixteen years the rat _looked_ at his friend.

There was far too much gray in the man's hair to be ordinary, yet stress and lycanthropy could do that to a person, as Pettigrew had learned. Shadows under the werewolf's eyes had grown so noticeable that Peter took serious doubt as to whether or not Remus had slept properly since the summer began, and what had once been second-hand Hogwarts robes when they had been in school, were now tattered and patched work robes, slightly frayed at the sleeves, and looking as though they should have been discarded years ago.

An overwhelming sense of guilt filled the pit of the Animagus' stomach like ice, and he knew in the back of his mind that he was to blame for this, Remus would not have had to live like this if only the Marauders had remained together....

Before he knew what he was doing, Peter was on his feet and moving toward the raging figure of Remus Lupin, almost as though the previous fifteen years had never happened.

"I...I heard about Sirius, Remus. I'm sorry..."

WHAM!

Pettigrew was thrown from his feet, slamming against the far wall of the cottage with a force that caused the entire building to shake on its foundations, and Remus rubbed the knuckles on his right hand, a thoroughly satisfied expression upon his face as he looked down at the rat of a man staring back at him in shock, a clearly broken nose spouting with blood.

_Kill him....abandoned pack mate...make him suffer...make him bleed...._

Instinctively, Remus threw a frantic glance through the open door, examining the positions of the shadows on the ground.

_Not yet....go away....not yet...._

"P-Please...H-Harry's out...out there...."

Pettigrew's words completely interrupted Lupin's chain of thought, and an almost desperate hope rose up in him.

"What are you talking about, Peter? Harry's...he's dead, you killed him."

"Didn't...alive...Voldemort...."

Pettigrew's eyelids began to droop, and Remus cursed his temper. Now was not the time for the rat to pass out on him!

"Get up, Peter! Peter—get up! _Ennervate_!"

Wormtail's eyes shot open, and with a loud yelp he began to speak in a frenzy.

"Don't kill me! Please! Wait!"

Remus did not lower his wand, his voice escaping in a threatening growl.

"_What have you done to him, Peter_?"

"He was going to kill him! Saved him! Voldemort knows we're here! We've got to—"

And time stood still as three things happened at once. Four simultaneous cracks split through the air outside the open door of the cabin, and Remus' entire body quaked as a very loud groan split through the air on the inside, and a full moon broke through the tree cover to illuminate the scene playing out below.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

**Author's Notes**: I'm going to get flamed for ending on that note, I can see it now. Next chapter will be up very soon, as it's already half-way through. Thanks so much for the supportive reviews, I really appreciate it!


End file.
